Doctor Who_ The Algebra of Ice - Lloyd Rose [36]
‘Apparently so.’
‘I see aliens? I mean, aside from you.’
‘Not all the time.’
‘I know not all the time.’
‘What I mean to say is, only when they’re attempting to come through out of sync with our vision – in our visual gaps, so to speak.’
‘But that can’t work, surely. Not everyone sees the same frames at the same exact moment. It’s not possible.’
‘You’re right,’ the Doctor agreed. ‘But think about this. How many frames could you possibly divide any visual field into? It would be like dividing a line forever: you quickly find yourself in the territory my culture calls reductive infinity – the infinity of smaller and smaller as opposed to larger and larger.
And for every two discrete frames there must be a gap where the frames aren’t.
76
The Algebra of Ice
That’s a lot of room. There will always be gaps that no one on earth ever sees.
That no one in the universe who has this particular eye structure ever sees.’
‘Then why do I?’
‘There are always exceptions. Some peoples’ film – to extend the analogy –
occasionally snags. Images appear to move a bit too slowly, blurring, or there’s a leap forward that elides a split second. When you receive more frames per second than the standard, you’re also receiving that many more gaps.’
‘But why does it happen?’
The Doctor rested his cheek on his hand. His eyes were sad. Ethan shifted nervously under his gaze. ‘What is it?’
For a moment the Doctor didn’t answer. Then he said, ‘Though it’s not con-current with them, it probably has something to do with your headaches.’
Ethan tried to get hold of this, but his mind was starting to slow down.
He had a feeling there was a discrepancy somewhere. His headaches, though organically real, had a psychological cause, whereas his vision. . . It was no good, he couldn’t work it out.
The Doctor was talking again. ‘These equations of U’s. I know his goal in and of itself is nonsense. But I’m interested in the paths he took trying to get there. He’s Patrick Unwin, by the way. Did you know him?’ Ethan shook his head. ‘Never mind. Will you help me?’
‘I don’t see what I can do.’
‘I want you to go over his equations, see what he was attempting, see if you can carry his computations any further.’
‘Even though they lead towards rubbish?’
The Doctor shrugged. ‘One man’s rubbish, as they say.’
‘I don’t know whether I can get the time off from work.’
‘Leave that to me.’
‘Oh right,’ Ethan said dryly. ‘I forgot. You’re an all-powerful spaceman.’
The Doctor smiled. ‘Extraterrestrial,’ he corrected gently.
CHAPTER NINE
When he got back to his flat, Ethan pushed papers off the bed, fell onto it fully clothed, and passed out. Some time later he woke up with a gluey tongue and a huge thirst. As he moved unsteadily to the kitchen, he realised that a specific noise had woken him. Someone was pounding on his door.
Muttering obscenities, Ethan got a glass of water and drank it down. Then another. He looked in the refrigerator – what he really needed was something carbonated, or with lemon in it. All he saw was an old carton of orange juice.
This made him feel slightly ill and he shut the door.
The pounding was still going on. Screw him, Ethan thought, drinking another glass of water. Screw the Doctor and his weird tales and his requests.
Then it occurred to him that if his visitor were the Doctor he wouldn’t be knocking, he’d only come in his usual way, whatever that was.
He cracked the door open. A tall pudgy man with a bandaged stump where his hand should have been beamed at him. ‘Oh it’s you,’ Ethan said. ‘No journalists. Go away.’
He started to close the door, but the man stuck his foot in the way. Ethan stomped on it. The foot withdrew, but the handless arm shoved in. Ethan couldn’t bring himself to slam the door on this. He stepped back and Molecross pushed into the room.
‘Mr Amberglass? I’m Adrian Molecross. ‘Can we have some light?’ He flipped the switch, then paused, surveying the room. ‘You’re not very neat.’
‘And you’re missing a hand. Let’s not harp on each other’s deficiencies.’
‘I lost this hand in the line